


winds of change

by galactirat



Series: Bird of Passage [2]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fluff and Murder, Graphic Violence/Death, M/M, Pre-Reboot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 04:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26346733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactirat/pseuds/galactirat
Summary: After leaving his life as Nightwing behind, Dick agrees to work a job with Slade Wilson. Their trip doesn't start off quite as Dick expects.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Bird of Passage [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855447
Comments: 22
Kudos: 126





	winds of change

It was the start of the rainy season. That’s what Slade had told him. In a tone that was almost apologetic. 

Fog shrouded the granite cliffs that towered above them as they walked along the Portuguese shoreline. The rain had dwindled down to a fine mist, merging with the salty spray of the sea. They had hardly seen a soul since they left their secluded suite. Tourism apparently lapsed in the fall.

Dick found that he didn’t mind the weather, though. The wet air felt good on his skin. Cool, but without the bite it would have back home. And there were moments when the sun gained ground on the war it fought with the clouds, and hazy orange light would filter down and gleam off the rippling water. It was beautiful. And it made the situation feel all the more surreal.

It had been five days since they left Gotham behind, but it felt longer. It was like he was in limbo. Or deep in a dream. A very strange one.

As they walked due north from the outlet where they had started, Dick found himself gripping Slade’s arm like it was the only thing grounding him. And Slade made no comment. Like this was nothing but natural for them. He had been different since Dick accepted his offer. Gentle and attentive in a way that Dick had only seen rarely before. It was unchartered territory, and it left him feeling a little breathless, a little exposed. This simple intimacy was stranger than anything they had done before.

As they fell into a companionable silence, Dick would occasionally steal glances the other man’s way. But Slade’s face betrayed nothing, and Dick could only wonder what was going on in his head. What he thought of all this. But Dick was afraid to ask. Afraid that once he looked too closely, it would all shatter into pieces, and so would he. So instead he leaned against Slade’s shoulder, and stared at the rolling waves, feeling just as tossed about by the conflict stirring inside him. Stuck between that urgent need to keep moving and the longing for this one moment of peace.

“When was the last time you took a vacation?” Slade asked him eventually, when Dick had stopped and crouched down to examine a half-buried shell in a shallow pool of water.

Dick washed wet sand off the glossy white surface as he mulled the question over. “I suppose that depends on how you’d define _vacation_.” Dick didn’t like to be idle. Didn’t like the coil of anxiety that snaked through his chest when his mind was unoccupied. Didn’t like it when he learned that some kid had been stabbed in a dirty alley, and he hadn’t been there because _he had to sleep_. So no, he didn’t take vacations. 

Slade watched him for a moment, and Dick felt suddenly weighed down under his fixed stare. “You’re too tense, kid.” He concluded after a moment, crossing his arms.

Dick ignored him as he stood back up, exhaling as he palmed the shell. “Have you found us a job yet?” He asked with a tilt of his head. “How much longer is it going to take?” 

Something that might have been disapproval flashed across Slade’s face. “Patience.” He said as he reached out to grab Dick’s bicep and pull him close. “I’m working out the details. And you need time to heal.” 

“I _am_ healed.” Dick grumbled back, closing one eye as Slade leaned in and pressed his mouth against the side of his neck. “I’m perfectly fi- Ow! No pinching.”

Slade chuckled and pulled his hand from Dick’s side before he had a chance to swat it away. “I promise, it won't be much longer.” He murmured into Dick’s ear. “The weather is supposed to clear up tomorrow. Why don't we drive somewhere?”

Dick huffed indignantly, but he leaned into the arm Slade was wrapping around his waist. “Fine.” He said as he pressed the shell into Slade’s hand.

The next day they drove through rolling hills and low hanging clouds, listening to Portuguese pop. It took them less than an hour to reach the old walled city. Like tourists, they walked through the cobbled streets and browsed small novelty shops filled with cork souvenirs and colorful ceramics. And as he watched visitors and locals alike mill about, Dick couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease. 

“Obrigado.” He said to a rosy-cheeked woman as he picked up a pair of chocolate cups from her wooden tray. She returned his smile with a _de nada_ and turned to her next customer. Though the main drag was bustling with people, Dick had no problem picking out Slade, standing off to the side of a small shop. Even without the bulking armor, he wasn’t hard to spot.

Dick took a sip of the cherry liqueur from his cup and glided over to his companion. It was cloyingly sweet, and warmed his throat going down. Slade looked up from the chainmail armor display he had been examining as he approached. Sunlight gleamed off his sunglasses as he glanced at the extra cup in Dick’s hand. 

“Now you don’t have to steal any of mine.” Dick explained, offering one of the cups with a wry smile.

Slade grunted but took it, his gaze lingering as Dick licked the melted chocolate from his fingertips. “I got a message from Scoops.” He said after a moment. “He’s got a line on something I think we can work with.” 

Dick hummed and took another sip to cover up the flicker of anticipation in his chest. “Good. And what will we be doing exactly?”

As Slade glanced back at the window the ghost of a smirk pulled at the edge of his lips, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead he leisurely downed the shot in his hand. Dick rolled his eyes. “You’ll see.” He said after a moment. “We’ll head down to Lisbon tomorrow. Fly out the next morning.” He held out the empty chocolate cup to Dick. “Do you want this?”

Dick met his gaze with a frown as he considered arguing for more information. Then he exhaled and plucked the cup from Slade’s hand. “Yes. I do.”

As the sun began to sink they made their way up a worn set of steps that led to the outer wall. Dick peered through arrow slits in the crumbling stone, staring down at the endless fields of red and orange and yellow, listening as Slade told him about Visigoths and Moors and Portuguese regents. His voice was calm, entrancing. Dick couldn’t recall ever hearing him speak at such lengths. And he found himself staring at Slade more and more, the autumn backdrop forgoten. Watching the way the wind twisted his silver hair. Or how he furrowed his eyebrows when he had to pause to recall the name of some long dead knight. He wasn’t so sure how long they stood there, beneath the darkening sky, but Dick didn’t mind that at all. 

* * *

“I want to go to the Oceanarium.” Dick said as he squinted at a map of the bus line pinned to the metro wall.

Slade leaned back against hard brick, eyeing commuters as they hurried by. He had wanted to hire a driver, but Dick insisted that they take public transportation. Said it would be _fun_. “We have one day in Lisbon and you want to look at fish?” 

Dick frowned at him. “It’s the largest indoor aquarium in Europe.”

“That so?” Slade replied dryly. “Well, it’s on the other side of town so we’ll have to skip the museum.”

Dick let out an unconvinced humm and looked back at the map, narrowing his eyes. “If we get to the museum by 5:00 we can leave by 5:45, catch the 728, make it to the Oceanarium by 6:15, stay until it closes at seven, then get back to Alfama in time for our reservation.” It was all said in one breath, and when Dick finished he had to inhale deeply.

“Or you could pick _one_ and we won’t have to rush.” 

There was a pause as Dick mulled that over, eyes searching for alternatives on the map. “I guess you’re right . . .” He said reluctantly. “We’ll do the museum.” He grinned back at Slade. “We’ll just have to come back sometime for the Oceanarium.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Dick pulled out a crumpled museum pamphlet as they made their way out of the metro station. “Lisbon has a hero, you know.” He said conversationally as he scanned over the exhibit list. “ _A Raposa-Ibérica_. I met him once. I think it was when those aliens were stealing people's spines. Nice guy, but I heard he’s got beef with La Renarde Cramoisie. You know, Crimson Fox? Not sure which one, cause there’s two of ‘em. Sisters I think. But anyway, according to Wally, the Global Guardians can’t even get through a meeting without the fur flying.” Dick let out a little laugh. “That’s just figuratively speaking, except for when Tasmanian Devil gets involved.”

Slade snorted as he scanned over passersby. He was aware of Lisbon’s resident meta. According to his intel he was currently in Prague, fighting Klaus Cornelius with the Guardians. “Should you be gossiping about your colleagues like that?” 

Dick shrugged and pulled down his sunglasses as they strolled out onto the busy street. High above them, the sun peered out between two massive clouds. “Maybe not.” He said with a faint smile. “So don’t go using any of that information for evil, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dick continued to chat away happily as they made the short walk to the museum. While Slade had little love for crowded places himself (his enhanced senses were always blasted with too much information at once, every sound and smell and flash of movement vying for his attention), Dick had seemed more at ease since they arrived in the city, the bustle of people no doubt a welcome distraction from his troubles. 

Slade hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect from the vigilante. His decision to come with Slade had been rash. Out of character. And Slade was no fool. He could see that whatever trauma driving him ran deep. Deep enough that Dick wanted to flee his own family. Escape his whole life. So there was no way to predict how this would unravel. Slade could only take it day by day. And each morning he didn’t wake up to an empty bed was a victory. A step closer to . . . well Slade wasn’t sure what exactly, but something.

The museum trip turned out to be more enjoyable than Slade would have predicted. It was quiet, the rooms easy to monitor. He could let his guard down. Relax. And damn, it had probably been years since he’d done anything like this. He let Dick work out their route through the winding building. Followed his pace. Because as much as Slade could appreciate the artisanship of any skilled work, he also took things as they were. Dick would spend several minutes at some pieces. Seconds at others. He’d read the information plates, sometimes pull out his phone to find out more, relaying to Slade any facts he found interesting enough to share. At some point conversation turned to their own experiences with the art world. Unsurprisingly, money laundering turned out to be the biggest commonality. After two hours they managed to clear the first few floors.

“I guess you were right.” Dick told him as they headed back down the stone steps that led to the street. “We only made it through half the exhibits.”

“We would have had more time if you hadn’t slept in so late.” Slade reminded him.

Dick groaned. “It’s not my fault. My sleep cycle is all messed up. You go to bed so early, and I’m nocturnal.”

“You don’t have a sleep cycle. You just keep going until you collapse on the first available horizontal surface you find.”

“I can sleep vertically too, I’ll have you know.”

The sky was getting dark as they made their way down streets that grew more narrow with every turn. The lights strung above them lit the cobbled stone with an orange glow, and the thrum of distant music and chatter echoed around them. Dick rerouted them so he could see one of the city’s iconic yellow trolleys pass, but they still made it to the restaurant with time to spare. It was small. Dick called it cosy. Slade called it a tactical nightmare, and Dick grinned at him like a madman when Slade asked for the wall table facing the entrance.

The restaurant was dim, lit mostly by candle, with walls decorated with colorful ceramic tiles and mounted guitars. They sipped on red wine as they waited for their meals, watching the fado musicians prepared for their performance. The neighborhood was famous for its fado music, and Dick had been enthusiastic when Slade suggested they try one of the restaurants.

“Back at Haley’s we had an animal trainer, Marianna.” Dick said as he gazed at the young woman tuning her guitar. “She used to sing fado to the horses. Said it calmed them. But she was shy about singing in front of people, so I used to hide behind the stable cars to listen.”

Slade glanced at him, not really sure how to reply, but Dick didn’t seem to be looking for a response. His eyes were still fixed on the performers, and as a sudden hush fell over the crowd he whacked Slade’s shoulder without looking away. “I think they’re starting.” He hissed unnecessarily, eyes widening as the woman strummed out the first notes on her guitar.

Her song was transfixing, a melancholic tune that kept the entire restaurant entranced, holding their breath. Dick watched with eyes that glimmered with candlelight, that guarded wall of his down. Slade was almost surprised when he glanced back at him, his smile sincere as he threaded his fingers through Slade’s.

* * *

They went through two bottles of wine before leaving the restaurant. Slade could tell the alcohol was starting to get to Dick as they made their way back to their hotel room. He still glided along with all the grace of god, but he was more touchy, pressing up against Slade like an affectionate cat, laughing more than he usually did. 

Slade suspected that Dick was still trying to feel out his limits. Was testing the waters of their relationship. And Slade had no problem indulging him. He didn’t mind. It was . . . endearing. And Slade would be lying if he said he was unaffected when Dick looked at him like _that_. With misplaced trust and affection. Not unlike the way Adeline once had, before bitter years burnt hatred in her eyes.

Dick waited until the door was closed behind them before throwing his arms around Slade's neck, hoisting himself up, wrapping his legs around Slade’s waist. Slade let out a huff of exasperation for good measure as he adjusted his arms to take on some of his weight. Dick ran his fingers through the back of Slade’s hair before leaning down to press his lips to his. Slade could still taste the sweet tang of the wine on his breath.

Dick hummed contentedly into the kiss, pressing up harder against him, breath hitching when Slade tightened his grip. When they broke apart he had already begun fumbling with the buttons on Slade’s shirt. “Impatient, aren’t we?” Slade murmured, not without amusement. 

Dick laughed in response, pressing his mouth to Slade’s neck as the mercenary walked them over to the side of the bed. “It’s our last night in Portugal.” He whispered into Slade’s ear. “We should make it a good one.”

Slade hummed, releasing Dick when he unwound his legs so he could flop down on the bed. Dick stretched out languidly, flashing Slade an impish smile. An invitation, but Slade didn’t take it. Instead he turned to the minibar.

He heard Dick huff indignantly, saw him roll onto his stomach and tuck his hands under his chin from the corner of his eye, watching as Slade pulled a bottle from the refrigerator.

Slade knew that Dick wasn’t a drinker. Didn’t have the time, didn’t care to be impaired. But with a little push he had indulged over the last few nights of their vacation. Had reached the point where he didn’t question it when Slade refilled his glass. Or notice that Slade’s own remained untouched. As the night went on he began to lean harder against Slade’s side. His words began to slur. And after one last attempt to get into Slade’s pants his eyes began to flutter shut, and with Slade’s hand running through his hair he finally fell asleep.

Slade didn’t slip out of the hotel right away. He watched as Dick’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took. Waited until he was sure he was fast asleep. The kid was a light fucking sleeper under normal circumstances. All Slade could hope was that the alcohol would keep him out for the next few hours.

It wasn’t exactly convenient, but Slade had one last commitment to clear before he could focus all his attention on Dick. A job he had accepted right before the mess with Owlman. One he couldn’t back out of now. The check had already cleared. He had given his word.

He took a nondescript car to the outskirts of Lisbon. Didn’t bother with the armor. Wasn’t looking to be recognized. Frankly didn’t need it. The job would be a breeze, and the client had no preferences, just wanted it done. Under other circumstances, Slade would have kept it simple. A rooftop perch and a precision rifle. But he needed it under the radar, and a gunshot would scare off his bird. Break all that trust he’d built up between them. _Prove_ what they both wanted to deny.

Slade had no problem with close and personal, though. He was past security and inside the apartment in under ten minutes, had the target neutralized in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t even a struggle. Slade’s left hand pressed into the man’s windpipe, keeping him silent. With his right he braced against the back of his neck, until he felt the bony ridges of vertebrae beneath his fingers. The break needed to be just right. Consistent with the narrative he wanted to push, so Slade adjusted his grip and applied pressure until he felt that familiar sickening snap. The man went instantly limp in his arms.

Target wasn’t a substance abuser. No mental health issues or chronic conditions. A staged suicide, overdose, or natural death would be met with more suspicion than a simple accident. Fortunately, over five hundred thousand people died a year falling down stairs. Most of them elderly, but it still happened. And Slade knew what the investigators looked for.

He tossed the body over his shoulder and made his way down the staircase. It was steep. Made of stone. Perfectly lethal. He adjusted his load and counted the steps as he went. Slade had studied under a Cleaner years ago. A short, unassuming man with oversized glasses and thinning hair. He had told Slade, in his slow, deliberate manner, that his work was an art as much as a science. Each drop of blood, every twist in the body, it all told a story. A story that he could rewrite. A reality he could alter. 

The body was the most telling piece of evidence. Arm and wrist fractures that occurred when live victims reached out to stop a fall needed to be recreated. Bruising made consistent with perimortem injuries. It could be tricky producing convincing results, but Slade had trained under the best.

When he was finally satisfied, he repositioned the body at the base of the stairs. Forensics could throw down all the reconstruction dummies they wanted, but they would find nothing inconsistent about the positioning. Nothing to contradict the obvious. And if they did? Slade didn’t give a shit as long as Dick didn’t see “Prominent Stock Broker Murdered!” when he flipped on the morning news. The kid would never buy the coincidence. And it was too early in the game to lose what trust he had built between them. Slade would just have to be choosy about the jobs he picked up for the time being. Again, inconvenient, but the payout could be well worth it.

He stopped at a bakery on his way back, and when he reached the hotel the sun was beginning to rise.

Dick was still lying in bed when Slade entered the room, tangled up in the sheets. He blinked up at the mercenary blearily, then groaned as he pulled the fabric over his head.

Slade grabbed a water bottle from the fridge before strolling over to the side of the bed.

“Where’d’you go?” Dick muttered groggily from beneath the covers.

“Got breakfast.” Slade said, placing the small box of pastries on the bed before sitting down himself.

Dick groaned again, but this time he pushed the sheets away and pulled himself up, rubbing at his eyes before finally looking over at Slade. “Never. Drinking. Again.” 

“You’re not going to be sick, are you?” Slade asked, holding out the water bottle. 

“No. But my head’s pounding.” He said, brushing one hand through his hair while he took the water with his other. “Feel like I’ve been sucker punched by Bane.” 

He watched Dick’s face carefully, in search of any sign of doubt. Ready for it to end before it even began. _Hoped,_ maybe, with some last remnant of his conscience. But there was no suspicion in Dick’s eyes. He downed the water then glanced down at the box, tugging at the strings tied around it. “I hope you got more of those custard tarts.”

“Of course.”

“You better not eat them all this time.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Slade deadpanned.

Dick snorted and swatted at him before lifting up the lid, his gaze greedy as he stared down at the pastries. “So are you gonna tell me anything about this job or what?” He said as he pulled out a tart.

“Don’t worry, it’s all very heroic. You’ll even get to save some people.”

Dick frowned at him as he chewed. “You don’t need to patronize me, Slade.” He grumbled in between bites. 

Slade hummed, leaning in to press his mouth against Dick’s shoulder. “I would never.” He murmured.

Dick huffed but leaned back against him. “Next time, I get to pick the job.”

“Next time?” Slade said with mock confusion. “I thought you said this was a one time deal?”

“Keep it up and it will be.”

Slade laughed.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next up: Dick works his first contract.


End file.
